


A Long-Awaited Reunion

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Series: When in Rome [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, Historical, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reunion Sex, Roman AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27542692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: It's been eight months since General Lestrade was last in Rome.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: When in Rome [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566760
Comments: 18
Kudos: 117





	A Long-Awaited Reunion

Mycroft Holmes drifted around the gathering, saying hello to the right people, keeping an eye on the proceedings. He was very aware of General Lestrade's presence, but they stayed apart, as if they'd fall like stars if they moved too close to one another.

It had been nearly eight months. The General had been busy winning glory in yet another campaign and he'd only returned the day before. For propriety's sake they hadn't met until tonight, but Mycroft could feel his presence even before he'd spotted him.

Mycroft was aware he was staring and pulled his gaze away, turning to refill his wine glass. Another few minutes and he could slip away. He'd go back to his home. And Lestrade would join him.

"Do you need help with that?" asked Lestrade in his ear, suddenly beside him, his strong hand hovering just over the small of Mycroft's back. God but that growl made the powerful Roman Consul want to slip to his knees.

"General Lestrade," he said, pulling himself together and turning to face the man. "I'm pleased to see you've returned safely."

"I do my best," he said.

Mycroft could see a new scar near his hairline. Proof that the General didn't shy away from combat himself. Mycroft took a sip of wine, automatically cataloging the other changes that he noticed. When he looked back up he could see Lestrade was doing the same to him.

"Ah, Consul Holmes," said another man, interrupting them. Which was probably just as well, given the frisson of danger and heat between them. "Might I speak with you a moment?" he asked.

"Of course," said Mycroft, turning to face him. He felt Lestrade step away, but knew that they'd be seeing each other all too soon.

The other man kept him busy longer than he would have liked, and by the time they finished, he noticed Lestrade had already slipped out. Mycroft made his farewells and headed out into the night.

The moon stood high over the city and the streets were fairly busy. Rome never really seemed to sleep. He knew his own security was close by; even here he never felt completely safe.

Fortunately, it wasn't very far to his own home. He was glad to pass through the gates and hear them close behind him. "He's in your room," said Anthea, giving him a knowing smile.

"Yes, thank you," said Mycroft, hurrying perhaps slightly more than was dignified as he made his way to his bedroom.

Not only was Greg in his room, but he was in his bed, gloriously naked, lit by a single candle. He rolled to his feet with predatory grace as Mycroft entered. "That took longer than I expected," he said.

"I apologize. Business, always."

Greg cupped his cheek and kissed him deeply, dominating in a way that no one else would dare.

Mycroft moaned softly. Greg's hands moved to free him from his clothes, letting them pool onto the floor by his feet. "I've missed you," he murmured, holding his hip and drawing him closer still.

"And I, you," said Mycroft, looping his arms around Greg's neck and smiling at him.

Greg shifted and suddenly scooped Mycroft up, carrying him to the bed and laying him down.

Mycroft let his legs fall open in invitation, knowing that Greg would take care of him.

But Greg was not in a hurry. It had been eight months but apparently, he was looking to savor the moment. He ran his thumb along Mycroft's cheek, studying his face.

Mycroft turned his head and kissed his palm, holding Greg's wrist. "What is it?" he asked.

"I had a few close calls," he admitted. "I'm not as fast as I was."

"But you are here," said Mycroft.

"I had to come home to you." Greg leaned in to kiss him, gentler this time, sweeter.

Mycroft tilted the soldier onto his back and moved over him, running his hands over his strong body, wanting to memorize every sinew. They did not speak of love, not out loud, but they both knew the truth of it.

"And I will always be here when you come home," said Mycroft, reaching for the oil on the bedside table.

Greg took it from him and coated his fingers, holding Mycroft's hip with his other hand as he pressed his fingers into him. Mycroft closed his eyes and rocked back against his hand. These hands had killed, surely, but here they were for a kind of creation, a benediction on what they had. Here they lit the fires that would always guide Greg home.

Mycroft had blood on his own hands, though perhaps not so directly. They were certainly a pair, but together they were greater than the sum of their parts. Surely the Gods would be merciful and allow them to always return to one another.

"You're thinking," muttered Greg, rolling them over again.

Mycroft took his free hand and kissed each digit with reference, hips still rolling with the movement of the other. "About you," he said. "And about us."

Greg gave him a gentle smile that Mycroft doubted anyone else ever saw. "I am yours," he said, leaning in to kiss him again, adding another finger.

Mycroft groaned and ran his hands through Greg's silver hair, feeling the scratch of his beard. "Claim me," he whispered. "Conquer me."

"Oh I conquered you quite a while ago," Greg answered. "But let me remind you of my rule."

Greg pushed his knees up and slicked himself, watching Mycroft's face as he pressed into him. Mycroft's eyes slammed shut and he let his hands fall by his side, happy to surrender.

Moving slowly, carefully, he gave Mycroft a chance to adjust, stealing more kisses as he did. He leaned back as he fully seated himself. "Beautiful," he murmured, clearly watching Mycroft's face.

Mycroft opened his eyes and looked up into Greg's dark eyes. He opened his mouth to respond, but then Greg started to thrust and his eyes slammed shut all over again.

Greg was clearly holding back as he slowly moved. Mycroft wrapped his arms around him. "Take me," he whispered in Greg's ear. "Stake your claim."

Growling low in his throat, Greg obeyed the order. There was nothing more perfect in this life than this feeling, than being overwhelmed by Greg, moving with him, feeling that perfect orderly control start to fracture as he gave in to his basest instincts.

Mycroft leaned up to kiss him. Greg groaned softly, losing his rhythm as he came.

Rolling them over again, Mycroft rolled his hips, working Greg through it as he took himself in hand. Greg opened his eyes to watch him, lips parted, eyes on Mycroft's face.

Mycroft moaned softly, bringing himself over the edge, curling up on himself as Greg's reached out to steady him.

Finally, Mycroft opened his eyes again, looking down at Greg with a soft, breathless smile.

He leaned down to kiss him, not minding the mess on Greg's heaving chest. Greg rolled them back over one more time, deepening the kiss. Mycroft's heart ached. This was where they belonged.

At last, Greg pulled back. He brushed Mycroft's curl off his forehead. "Let me get something to clean us up," he murmured, carefully pulling out and getting up. Mycroft turned his head to watch him move around the room, noticing a new scar on the back of his thigh.

They both lived dangerous lives, though of different sorts. But these stolen moments were safety and home. Greg returned to Mycroft with a damp cloth and gently cleaned him up, stealing one more kiss.

"Stay the night?" asked Mycroft.

"I will," said Greg, tossing the cloth aside and getting into bed again. Mycroft knew his own servants and slaves were discrete. Greg gathered him against his chest, gently running fingers through Mycroft's hair.

Mycroft sighed, wanting to say so much, but finding himself already drifting off. They could talk in the morning, over breakfast. Perhaps it was time for them to think of slowing down, doing something else. Though even as he thought of it he knew they wouldn't. Their jobs were too important to both of them, despite the dangers and the distances. He simply had to hope and pray that Greg would keep his promise to always return.

Greg murmured something against Mycroft's hair, too quiet to be heard. A declaration, perhaps. Mycroft smiled and found sleep, secure in his general's arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm supposed to be doing nanowrimo. Roman Rupert is distracting as hell so this happened. 
> 
> Much thanks to LaKoda0518 and Theartstudentyouhate for reading along.


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